Pablo Neruda Poem

Still Another Day: XVII/Men

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The truth is in the prologue. Death to the romantic fool,
to the expert in solitary confinement,
I’m the same as the teacher from Colombia,
the rotarian from Philadelphia, the merchant
from Paysandu who save his silver
to come here. We all arrive by different streets,
by unequal languages, at Silence.

The Separate Rose: I
Love For This Book

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